After all, there were those who were not afraid of the rain, and were not to be kept from their purposes by it. Ruth listened indifferently at first, then with a touch of eagerness, to the sound of the bell, and the tones in the hall, and then to the sound of Judge Burnham’s step as he was being shown to the sitting-room. The new help had been in the house just long enough to discover that he was a privileged and unceremonious guest.
“Ah!” he said, pausing in the doorway “Am I disturbing? Sick to-night, Judge?”
“Come in,” said Judge Erskine’s hearty voice. “No, I am not sick, only dreadfully lazy and being petted. When I was a boy, and mother used to brush my hair, nothing soothed and rested me so much, and I find I haven’t lost the old habit. Have a chair, and tell us the evening news. I haven’t been out of the house since dinner.”
“Nothing specially new,” said Judge Burnham, dropping into an easy-chair and looking around him inquiringly. “Where are the ladies?”
“Why,” said Mrs. Erskine, brushing away steadily, “Susan is in the kitchen; she mostly is these days. Such a time as we are having with servants; I wonder she don’t get sick of the whole set and tell them to tramp. Just now, though, she has got hold of one who seems willing enough to learn; and Susan heard her pa say this noon that he believed he would like some muffins once more, so she is down there trying to teach Mollie about setting muffins, and beating of it into her to let them alone in the morning till she gets down to ’tend to them.”
“Why,” said Judge Erskine, in a tone of tenderness that jarred Ruth’s ears, “I wonder if she is attending to that? What a child she is! She will wear herself out waiting on me.”
“There ain’t a selfish streak about her,” Mrs. Erskine said, complacently “nor never was. But la! you needn’t fret about her, Judge; she loves to do it. She went down in the first place to ’tend to that, but she has got another string to her bow now; she found out that Mollie didn’t know how to read writing, and had a letter from her mother that she couldn’t make out, so Susan read it to her, and the next thing was to write her an answer, and she is at that now.”
“And where is Miss Ruth?” questioned Judge Burnham, the instant this long sentence was concluded.
“Why, she is moping—that’s the best name I know for it. She is back there in the alcove. I thought she went to play, but she hasn’t played a note. That child needs a change. I’m just that worried about her that her white face haunts me nights when I’m trying to sleep. She has had an awful hard siege; her pa so sick, and she obliged to keep away from him, and not being sure whether I knew more than a turnip about taking care of him—I wonder how she stood it. And I’m just afraid she will break down yet. She needs something to rest her up and give her some color in her cheeks. I keep telling her pa that he ought to do something.”